


Keeping Up Appearances

by empty_marrow



Category: Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith
Genre: Age Difference, Humor/Romance, M/M, and some pretty pathetic singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empty_marrow/pseuds/empty_marrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Palpatine, Anakin, and maintaining illusions in public:  one of them was bound to screw it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Up Appearances

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as part of a challenge on the unlimitedepower comm at LJ. And because my fondness for weird-ass unconventional shipping apparently transcends time, space, and galaxies far, far away.

  
“Profuse thanks go -– wait, is this on? Can you hear me? Ah, right then -- profuse thanks go out to our esteemed Supreme Chancellor for his kind and inspiring opening speech. Now, to kick off this very special celebration, the Trans-Galactic Younglings’ Chorus will regale you with a song they’ve created especially for tonight! Younglings, take it away….”  
  
 _“Oh, we’re the Younglings’ Chorus and this song we’ll sing for you  
To celebrate this party with our voices strong and true  
Our beautiful Coruscant may seem vast and wide and tall  
But we’re here to remind you – it’s a small world after all!  
  
(and a-one and a-two….)  
  
“It’s a galaxy of wonder  
Full of love and happy smiles  
Where this song of happy children  
Can be heard for happy miles  
  
“Oh we come from many planets  
We are green and white and blue  
Some have skin or fur or feathers  
All are sending love to you”_  
  
Cos Palpatine could’ve been a contender.  
  
He could have been Emperor – _would_ have been, actually, and in the not-so-distant future to boot, if the end-results of all his interpersonal and interplanetary puppeteering skills thus far were any indication.  
  
 _“Feel the hugs from happy Ewoks  
As the Wookiees roar above  
The Twi’leks twitch their tentacles  
That means they feel the love  
  
“Oh it’s a galaxy of wonder  
With its children as the source  
Let us sing of precious seedlings  
As they blossom in the Force”_  
  
Unfortunately, Cos Palpatine was going to die a mere Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, right here beside the warm-appetizer table in the Qui-Gon Jinn Memorial Conference Hall of the Galactic City Hilton. Because any minute now he was going to take one of the proffered Iridonian artichoke kebobs, pull out the decorative spear, and stab himself right through the eye so he wouldn’t have to listen to one more verse of that fucking song.  
  
Sly Moore was hovering off to one side of the room, intentionally avoiding eye contact with him under the pretense of “mingling,” and he briefly considered going for a murder/suicide with the kebob stick. He still wasn’t completely convinced that she hadn’t pulled some sort of Umbaran mind-trick to get him to actually agree to this “marvelous photo-op to show off your warm-and-fuzzy side” -- as if there weren’t any number of warmer-and-fuzzier senatorial twits who would have fallen all over themselves to make the opening remarks at the First Trans-Galactic Year of the Youngling Celebration.  
  
Besides, some of them even seemed to be _enjoying_ the little brats. Bail Organa looked like he was on the verge of wetting himself every time he stopped to fawn or be fawned over by an infatuated Alderaani schoolgirl. His esteemed colleague Senator Amidala was actually sitting on the _floor_ playing “got-your-tentacle” with a pair of giggling, sticky-looking Twi’lek twins. Palpatine smoothed back one sleek black cuff with a fastidious little “tsk.” _You can take the girl out of the Naboo trailer-park,_ he mused to himself, _but just try to get the trailer-park out of the girl._  
  
And then there were his personal favorites, the Jedi. They were all over the room like a beige blight, preening over their gaggle of tiny beige younglings with their tiny toy light-sabers, hogging the open bar -- apparently that vow of moderation-in-all-things only applied until the drinks were free -- and always, always _watching._ He could feel them fine-tuning their Force currents, Windu and Kenobi and every other annoying senior Jedi in the room channeling their senses in his general direction with all the subtlety of a Hutt in heat. Evidently any moment now they expected him to jump up onto the salad table, do a Corellian pole-dance between the ice sculptures, and out himself as a Sith Lord for the coup de grace.  
  
 _Well, good luck with that._ His thoughts had been so deeply cloaked for so many years that they’d get more of a Force signature from a Gungan’s ass than from their benign old Chancellor. Which, come to think of it, was a very good thing on several important levels these days.  
  
His musings were interrupted by a flash of dark blonde hair and pink pillowy lips in his peripheral vision, and it took all of his renowned self-control not to turn around and beat a hasty path in the direction of the only worthwhile company in the entire room. He snuck a quick glance at the expensive timepiece on his wrist, pondering exactly how long he’d have to be stuck in this child-friendly hell-hole before he could look forward to escaping for a little after-hours activity, preferably involving those lips and their owner. Suddenly, the evening was looking highly salvageable, singing damned Ewoks notwithstanding.  
  
And it all made for a lovely daydream for all of five minutes -- then his fantasy object sauntered directly into his line of sight and perched at the far end of the dessert table, and all that nice anticipatory lust evaporated into a sigh of irritation.  
  
Because Anakin Skywalker was wearing a world-class “I am _so_ pissed off at you, you bastard” all-out in-your-face pout, and it had Cos Palpatine’s name written all over it.  
  
 _And here we have the problem in a nutshell_ , Palpatine reflected in exasperation. The boy had amazing potential, bottomless pools of untapped power, but he was an utter slave to his own emotions. It was one of the main reasons they hadn’t drifted too far into the whole Sith-versus-Jedi realm of philosophical discussions yet – there was no way Anakin would be subtle enough to conceal his reactions from Kenobi or the others at this point.  
  
And it made for a most compelling justification for why they had to be _extremely_ careful how they behaved in public, as he’d tried to explain to the boy repeatedly yesterday.  
  
 *********  
  
  
“You must understand, Anakin, that this is an awful time for any whiff of impropriety or scandal. Half the Senate and every last one of your Jedi friends would absolutely love to see me make a misstep of this proportion.”  
  
“You know, I’m really getting tired of all this multi-tasking –- today I’m the Chancellor’s official Jedi Council representative, tomorrow I’m his official misstep, the list goes on.” Anakin made an effort to appear unconcerned and nonchalant about this pronouncement, and failed quite miserably.  
  
“Well, ‘official’ may be rather a strong word for it – oh, Anakin, that was a joke!” Palpatine grabbed for Anakin’s shoulder as the latter started to leap up in distress, tugging him back down onto the sofa where they’d been reclining comfortably in the waning afternoon sunlight. “Really, child, if you haven’t figured out how I feel about you by now I must be doing something wrong.”  
  
He ran a hand through the boy’s hair, tugging playfully on a few dark blonde curls, and Anakin visibly relaxed as he slouched further down into the plush sun-warmed leather and nuzzled into the Chancellor’s side.  
  
“It’s just -- I hate it _so much_ when you start talking about duty and responsibility,” he mumbled into Palpatine’s shoulder as he stared at the floor. “I keep thinking you’re going to tell me this was all a big mistake on your part, that it’s over between us and you’re sending me away.”  
  
“Anakin, as I’ve told you many times before, I have no intention of doing such a thing.” Palpatine leaned back and used one well-manicured finger to tilt the boy’s chin up until their eyes met. “But even you must acknowledge that there are inherent complications here. To name just one, there’s the little fact that your Jedi comrades believe you’re spending so much time around me because you’re actually spying for them. Then there’s the whole philosophical issue with the Jedi aversion to expressing emotion and physicality. And --”  
  
“—and there’s that really really big age difference,” Anakin supplied helpfully.  
  
The Chancellor tried to relax the clench that had formed at the back of his jaw with that second “really.” “There is that, yes.”  
  
“It’s actually kind of funny when you think about it, especially with you calling me ‘child’ and ‘my boy’ all the time. Can you imagine what people would say? I mean, when the Jedi took me in I was nine and you were already the ripe old age of --”  
  
“ _Yes_ , we have established that I’m older than you, thank you.” Palpatine paused, then made an effort to continue in a less peevish tone. “So you see why we can’t spend a great deal of time around one another tomorrow night, my b—erm, Anakin. With so many people there it’s just too risky.”  
  
“I suppose. It’s just not _fair_ , though – why can’t they all leave us alone?” Anakin sighed petulantly, then brightened with a sudden inspiration. “Can I come with you tomorrow night if I promise to stay really restrained and subtle the whole time?” He capped this suggestion by stretching up to ghost the tip of his tongue against the shell of the Chancellor’s ear.  
  
“Darling ch--Anakin, there are many words that I could use to describe you, but at the very best of times ‘restrained’ and ‘subtle’ are not among them – mmmm…” Palpatine sighed at the persuasive assault that was taking place in his ear.  
  
“Well now I’m just hurt. You have no faith in me.” The words were accompanied by teasing little bites as those magnificent lips left his ear and began to travel down his neck.  
  
“On the contrary, I have absolute faith – that you’ll be rash and imp-pulsive --” the Chancellor stuttered over the syllable as Anakin found a particularly sensitive pulse point in his neck. “Admit it, Anakin, if Mace Windu started his usual antagonistic nonsense around me do you honestly think you could just stand there serenely and keep a civil tongue in your mouth?”  
  
“Don’t know, don’t care -- I’d rather keep my civil tongue in _your_ mouth.”  
  
As the boy proceeded to demonstrate exactly how that could be done, the Chancellor sharply reminded himself that he’d kept his wits about him in situations that were far more distracting than this one – although the best example he could think of at the moment was when he’d been a prisoner on General Grievous’ ship, and when you got right down to it a pissy, wheezing bio-droid just didn’t hold a candle to a horny Jedi with an ass that was tight enough to crack transparisteel. _Damn, what had they been talking about again?  
  
Oh, right – maintaining appearances._  
  
“ _Mmmpfh_ – Anakin, really, stop a moment and listen, it’s important.” He managed to break the kiss and place one restraining hand on the boy’s chest. “You _need_ to spend all your time with the Jedi tomorrow night – they had a big role in putting this wretched program together and they’re going to expect you to participate fully. When you see me we can discuss general unimportant topics such as how well the evening’s going and how nice the food is, but even that should only be done when at least one other Jedi is with you so nobody gets the wrong – what are you doing?”  
  
Anakin Skywalker was suddenly kneeling at his feet, one hand on each of Palpatine’s thighs, and he looked up at the bemused Chancellor with a wet-lipped smile that could only be described as decadent.  
  
“If you haven’t figured it out by now, Cos,” he parroted silkily, “I must be doing something wrong.”  
  
The next thing he knew he felt the contrasting sensations of hot and cold against his skin as flesh and metal hands crept under his robes, and Palpatine could swear he heard a “thud” somewhere in the back of his brain as all of his carefully-crafted instructions crashed, burned, and imploded rather spectacularly for the remainder of the evening.  
  
 *********  
  
  
Okay, so apparently they both were a little distractible at times.  
  
Which was bad – not that yesterday hadn’t been mind-blowingly _good_ – but fixating on that right now would be very very very _bad_.  
  
 _Shit.  
  
Note to self, Sidious old boy: sleeping with your potential apprentice probably doesn’t rank right up there among the smartest things you’ve ever done._  
  
He risked a quick glance back at the dessert table and saw that Anakin, though still pouting, now was engaged in what appeared to be a fairly relaxed conversation with Obi-Wan Kenobi. No doubt the boy would still gripe at him later on about how _wrong_ and _unfair_ it was that he’d been abandoned and ignored all evening, but now that he was suitably distracted by his former Master, his future Master could breathe a little easier and get back to the business of enduring the rest of this festive fiasco.  
  
Flashing a wide politician’s smile, Palpatine turned a fashionably-robed back on the two Jedi knights and accepted a handshake and a disturbingly pink, frothy drink from Mas Amedda. Things were bound to get better from here.  
  
“Hello Chancellor -- a rousing success this evening is, hmm?”  
  
…if by “better” he meant “one step above sucking Bantha balls.” Oh, Sly Moore was going to die slowly and _painfully_ when he got home.  
  
“Why, hello, Master Yoda. How are you tonight?” The Chancellor nodded mildly at the tiny Jedi Master and tried not to stare in horror at the sparkly pink bow that was inexplicably tied to his gimer stick.  
  
“Enjoying the festivities tonight, are you?” Yoda fixed him with a pop-eyed, perky-eared stare – if he were any more hot-and-bothered about trying to trick him into making some dastardly dark-side pronouncement the old fool would be _salivating_.  
  
“Oh yes, I can honestly say this celebration is everything I’d expected it to be.” _Go on and try to parse that, you puckered little green freak._  
  
“Like the opening song, do you? Helped with the lyrics, I did.”  
  
“Really? I thought I detected your distinctive flair in the wording.” _Although at least they cleaned up your god-awful syntax._  
  
“A great treasure our younglings are, Chancellor. Fill the Force with vigor and stimulation, they do.”  
  
“On that we are agreed, Jedi Master.” Ye gods, if his fake politician’s smile were plastered on any tighter his face would crack. _Mind you, some younglings are more stimulating than others…._  
  
Palpatine glanced over Yoda’s head toward the dessert table and quickly repressed a frown – now _why_ was Moore chatting up Anakin and Kenobi? She was usually far better at maintaining a proper distance from all things Jedi, although admittedly it could all be quite innocent given the contents of the table in front of her. If memory served him, she seemed to have a soft spot for both the “adorable well-mannered young man who visits the office so faithfully” and warm Coruscanti caramel sauce. Apparently she’d decided to wander over and get some two-for-one instant gratification, while her _boss_ who signed her _paychecks_ was forced to stand here pretending he gave a wamp-rat’s ass about the precious gift of children’s laughter or some such drivel. It dawned on the Chancellor that Anakin might occasionally have a point when he groused about things not being fair.  
  
…Oh for godsake, that little green twit was _still_ talking to him.  
  
“…and therefore, happy I am to see the Chancellor’s office take such an interest in this important matter. Discuss this further we should, hmm? Form a focus group perhaps?” Yoda tapped his gimer stick on the floor for emphasis, making the pink bow flutter disconcertingly.  
  
 _Well isn’t that just typical – if you can’t find a reason to arrest your Chancellor, you can always hit him up for more funds, can’t you, you little bloodsucker?_ “Why of course, Master Yoda, I’m always happy to help, that’s what I do after all – I’ll have my girl call your, erm, Jedi and we’ll set up something…”  
  
They were distracted by a soft “plop” and a slightly louder “oops” from the vicinity of the dessert table.  
  
Yoda turned toward the noise and started to chuckle. “Announcing himself as usual, young Skywalker is,” he remarked, though not unkindly. “For one so powerful in the Force, an awkward adolescent at times he still can be.”  
  
 _Oh, give me a break already, he’s not young enough to be called adolescent, you perver—_  
  
Palpatine casually followed the direction of Yoda’s perusal, and his train of thought de-railed in mid-sentence. For straight across the room, directly in his line of sight, stood a blushing Anakin Skywalker, laughing self-consciously at an upended bowl of Coruscanti caramel sauce, the contents of which were liberally coating his hands and chest.  
  
A mortified teenaged Jedi padawan was standing beside him close to tears – she’d obviously tipped the bowl a little too freely over her ice cream, lost control and ended up effectively caramel-dipping the Knight who’d been standing beside her. But far from being angry about it, Anakin seemed to find the whole situation highly amusing, or at any rate a lot less boring than the rest of the night’s events had been. He reassured the flustered girl that no harm was done, and was reaching to give her a comforting pat on the back when he obviously realized how sticky he was at the moment. Thinking better of touching anyone, he left the consoling to a still-laughing Obi-Wan Kenobi and stepped around to the other side of the table, where he accepted a hastily proffered towel from one of the serving droids. He started to dab at the mess on his chest, then suddenly stopped, regarded his hands with an “oh well, I haven’t had dessert yet anyway” grin, and proceeded to slowly and methodically lick the warm caramel off one long, sticky finger at a time.  
  
…All in full view of the Chancellor, whose train of thought had by this time not only de-railed but also jumped the rest of the tracks, leveled the train station and wiped out every pedestrian on the platform.  
  
 _That’s…that’s quite…he’s really…that’s almost…oh my._  
  
“Something wrong, is there, Chancellor?”  
  
Palpatine came back to reality to see Yoda staring up at him with a perplexed frown.  
  
“Ehm -- hrmm? Erm, I’m sorry, Master Yoda, what were you saying?”  
  
“Very flushed you look all of a sudden – disagree with your digestion, does the Youngling Punch?”  
  
He gestured to the glass of frothy pink liquid that Palpatine was clutching in a hand gone quite suddenly and appallingly sweaty. “I, erm, yes, I think that must be it, it’s a little exotic for my taste.”  
  
He hastily passed the untouched drink back to a serving droid, and attempted to look at anything other than the appealing caramel-covered spectacle in front of him. Which of course made it impossible for him to notice a single thing, _except_ how very pink Anakin’s tongue was as it lapped up the gooey mess on his fingers, and how his lower lip looked slightly swollen as if he’d been biting it, and how there was a spot of caramel that had landed just so, right in the hollow of his neck….  
  
 _Stop that this instant, you pathetic hormone-addled excuse for a Sith!_  
  
If Palpatine could have Force-lightninged himself upside the head to make himself re-focus he would have, nearby wee annoying Jedi master be damned. _He’s a distraction, a silly, pretty boy – while you are the head of the Senate! It’s an official ceremony, you fool! It’s your responsibility to comport yourself properly – it’s your duty! It’s –_  
  
Anakin, having found the same spot of caramel on his neck, brushed it off with one finger, sucking the digit clean with a soft “pop” from those bruised lips that Palpatine felt all the way down to his shoes.  
  
 _It’s – it’s – it’s bloody hot in here._  
  
“Erm…Chancellor?”  
  
He registered the mechanical voice around the same time he realized that something felt weird in the vicinity of his fingers -- then looked down to see that he’d submerged his right arm up to the elbow in one of the igloo-shaped ice containers. He jumped back from the table and the perplexed serving droid with a most un-senatorial curse.  
  
“Ah, my apologies, I didn’t see that – no, no, I’m fine, it’s just a little ice,” he added, brushing off the attempted ministrations of the droid and flicking tiny wet chips off his sleeve. At least one of his limbs was back to room temperature – unfortunately it wasn’t the one that was causing him trouble at the moment.  
  
“Chancellor Palpatine?” The one saving grace so far was that Yoda continued to look more worried than suspicious. “A disturbance I am sensing. Something up, is there?”  
  
 _That would be one way of putting it,_ Palpatine reflected painfully. He made a mental note to double the salary of his personal couturier – after much arguing she’d convinced him to wear his robes in a looser-cut style that she’d insisted was trendier and more figure-flattering. They were also far more effective at concealing a light-saber or…other prominent appendages that would constitute a _huge_ social faux-pas if they got trotted out at a children’s celebration. Oh hell, he’d better _triple_ her salary.  
  
Under other circumstances, he’d use a quick burst of Sith meditation to re-direct his focus, but with a Jedi master standing beside him and with the way his luck seemed to be running tonight, he didn’t dare try it. With his hands metaphorically tied and the situation approaching desperate, the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic made a decision and bowed to the time-honored tradition known to younglings galaxy-wide:  
  
 _Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. C’mon, Cos, Sidious, you can do it, just picture the elders of the Jedi Council in socks and old baggy underwear, that’d deflate anything…Mon Mothma in a leather miniskirt with unshaved legs, good, gooood, that’s working…Binks in gold sequined leg-warmers dancing in the Mon Calamari Ballet...ahh, much better now._  
  
Palpatine sighed in relief; say what you would about the joys of feeling one’s power grow, some times and places were frankly more appropriate for it than others. A few more Force-withering images and he should be his old self.  
  
 _Oh! Oh! Mas Amedda all oiled up, rolling around on the Senate floor wearing heels and a purple thong!_  
  
Yoda turned back toward him with a gobsmacked expression.  
  
 _…crap, probably should’ve cloaked that last one better._  
  
“To each his own I say,” the old Jedi Master muttered as he stumped away, “but an entire lifetime could I have lived without that image….”  
  
And another evening in Galactic City would end with Darth Sidious remaining effectively hidden from the puny minds of the Jedi council. Unfortunately, those puny minds would apparently be very much a-twitter over what a big thong-obsessed Chagrian-shagging pervert the Supreme Chancellor was. Palpatine grimaced – surely he must have stayed long enough at this celebration from hell that it would be socially acceptable to go home soon?  
  
 _“…Second verse, same as the first!  
  
Oh, it’s a galaxy of wonder  
Full of peace and joy above  
Now our troupe of joyful Jawas  
Will do the Dance of Love!”_  
  
…Okay, screw social acceptability, screw them all, he was out of here.  
  
“Um, Your Excellency?”  
  
Palpatine jumped at the familiar voice at his side. He turned to find Anakin Skywalker, still rather caramel-covered and standing a very appropriate and respectful distance from him.  
  
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Chancellor, but Master Yoda said you weren’t feeling well. I apologize for my, uh, sticky appearance, but as I was going to go home to change anyway he suggested I should see that you get safely back to your apartments?”  
  
And astonishingly, it was Anakin himself who was the proper one tonight, his dark blonde head tilted at attention and his smile a perfect polite mask, only the tiny quirk of one eyebrow indicating that he found anything at all humorous in a series of events that had conspired to produce a flushed, wet-robed Chancellor and a beautiful boy with sweet, sticky hands.  
  
…one of which Cos Palpatine grabbed in his own, right there beside the pink drinks and the dancing Jawas and anyone who cared to see it.  
  
“Occasionally even Master Yoda makes an excellent suggestion,” he remarked, pulling the surprised Jedi behind him as he headed for the conference room exit.  
  
“But – I – Cos—erm, Your Excellency,” Anakin sputtered as quietly as he could, “Be careful, I’m going to get you all messy!”  
  
Palpatine rounded on him just at the doors, his heated smile melting away the boy’s reserves like so much caramel. “Well, that’s the idea, isn’t it?”  
  
Matching him grin for grin, Anakin raced him to the shuttle without letting go of his hand.  
  
 *********  
  
  
“Well, _that_ wasn’t one of the year’s better parties, even for a Jedi-sponsored event,” groused Mas Amedda as he irritably flipped through his mail. “I don’t know what the hell they put in that Youngling Punch, but my bowels will be complaining for days, mark my words.”  
  
Sly Moore made an exasperated noise as she slammed down her coffee mug. “Mas, what have I told you about giving me the status report on your bowels first thing in the morning?”  
  
“I know, I know, I’m shutting up now,” Amedda replied with an apologetic shrug. “But strange things were happening last night, Sly – people were doing all sorts of bizarre stuff. It wasn’t bad enough that C.P. was in a worse mood than usual--” he nodded toward the closed doors that separated the Chancellor’s private quarters from the main office “—but _everyone_ seemed to be out of their heads. I was coming out of the men’s room when out of nowhere some horrid wrinkled little green Jedi materialized and snarled at me for being a ‘Chagrian rent-boy’ -- oh, I’m glad _you_ think it’s funny!” he snapped, drawing his tentacles tighter around his head with an offended sniff.  
  
“Sorry.” Moore coughed delicately to suppress a most un-Umbaran giggle. “Don’t mind me anyway, I intend to be in a sickeningly good mood for the entirety of the week, while I’m off on that most _generous_ paid vacation.”  
  
“It’s unfair, is what it is,” huffed Amedda. “I do all of his dirty work, I stick up for him in the Senate, I make sure the coast is clear so he and his pretty boy can frolic behind the office doors – and sometimes up against those doors if the noises last night were any indication – and _I_ don’t get time off.”  
  
“Well, if it’s any consolation to you, dear, I don’t think he’ll require much assistance from you while I’m gone. In fact I doubt either one of them is going to recover enough energy to walk through those doors for at least a couple of days.” Moore paused thoughtfully over the small purse she was packing. “Although I did leave you the number of a good cleaning service, you may need to remove caramel from some hard-to-reach places around his desk. And his bed. And the carpet.”  
  
Amedda shuddered. “I won’t even ask. Honestly, I’m still not sure whether we’re even supposed to officially _know_ that he’s banging his Jedi boyfriend.”  
  
Moore shook her head. “Sweetie, I think it’s safest to withhold that knowledge until _he_ realizes that he has a boyfriend – I’m not sure he’s there yet, so I’d go with the discretion angle if you want to keep all your tentacles. Now, I’m off – there’s a huge clearance sale on planet Manolo and I intend to blow my wad on footwear.” Throwing her purse over her shoulder, she waved to Amedda and headed toward the door.  
  
“Oh come on, Sly, have a little mercy here,” whined Amedda. “You’re the only staff member he likes – what exactly _is_ your secret?”  
  
Moore paused at the door with a dramatic sigh. “Aside from knowing my place, knowing his requirements, and knowing when to pay a teenaged padawan to be a fumble-fingers at a strategically-located table? I guess it’s just old-fashioned Umbaran magic.” Winking, she headed out the door and down the hallway.  
  
“Hmpfh,” sniffed Amedda to himself. “It certainly must be nice to have that kind of insight, imagine what she’d be like as a Sith….Wait, Moore? What exactly _is_ a rent-boy??”  
  



End file.
